Legend of Sleazy Hotel
by Sideshow Cellophane 26
Summary: THOH short story. This is a parody of the Headless Horseman tale, but a bit mixed up. The first chapter is a better summary than this is...Point being, the Simpson children need to work with Sideshow Bob in order to save themselves and the rest of the world from a demonic entity . . . that is using Cecil, Bob's brother, as a vessel.
1. Possession

**Because I watched Disney's 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,' I give you this:**

**(By the way, it's set in regular times. And I promise, it will not go off into random plot stories, or follow Sleepy Hollow's legend all the way, as it is set in modern days. And the setting is in a city, so how much sense would it really make if there was a headless horseman in the middle of a town, surrounded by people? Sorry, rambling.)**

* * *

Halloween.

Its beginning is often misunderstood—most people believe it is Lucifer's birthday . . . Which, in all fairness, is not too far from the truth.

What those people do not know: Celtic priests (commonly known as the Druids) would honor Samhain, Lord of the Dead, on October thirty-first to November first. It was rumored that on the thirty-first, he would conjure the souls of the dead into bodies of animals to pay for their sins. This day was believed to be All Hallows Eve. Over the many years, it was shortened to "Halloween."

The Romans honored their god Pomona, god of fruit, by offering apples and nuts and playing games on November first. They took over the Celts (France, Wales, etc…), and reigned for four-hundred years. Over that time, the Samhain and Pomona Festivals became one.

In the Middle Ages it became The Night of the Witch—witchcraft had risen and was believed to be a cult against the Catholic church. This put a whole new meaning to 'The Witching Hour,' also known as midnight.

Tonight, as it was now—Cecil Terwilliger checked his watch—twelve o'nine, it was officially All Hallows. The wind swept the remaining leaves off of a nine-foot oak tree, and right into his face.

He shivered, and held the cape with both his hands over his chest. The streets were empty, except for a dog digging through some trash in a nearby alley. The town of Springfield had taken Halloween to a whole new level this year: they had re-created the basic 1800s town, and it would remain so for two weeks through the holiday to attract tourists. For one week before Halloween, and another afterwards, the entire town had to dress up and play the parts of nineteenth century families.

Cecil himself had on a black turtleneck shirt, cape and a three-edged hat, resembling Ichabod Crane's appearance in _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_. Even the prisoners had to look the part.

Not that he was one anymore, but the last thing his family—yes, meaning Bob—had to do was attract attention by dressing in _this_ century's clothing. It was only two days ago he had been released on parole, and Bob was supposed to have passed his own hearing today. They were to meet tonight. He groaned and checked his watch again. Bob was late. He was supposed to have met Cecil on *Hidden Street forty minutes ago.

He began to pace now, and shivered again as the wind kicked up. It was a full moon tonight. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching behind him and sighed in relief, turning.

"Thank God, I was about to—"

He stopped. There was nobody behind him, much less on the street. The dog had moved, though, and began to whine as the wind howled around them.

_Just the dog, then._

It barked at something behind Cecil, whined, and ran off with its tail between his legs. The man backed up now, unnerved by this odd behavior, and heard footsteps behind him again. He whipped around, and there was nothing.

_Not the dog._

He was not a man to be controlled by emotions easily. Emotions clouded judgment, the mind, and were the one weakness of every human being. Cecil knew fear was the one that got to men the most. Panic was what killed underwater divers in tough times. Seeing a nearby shark, swimming up too fast, getting the Bends (or attracting unwanted attention from the shark in the process…).

"Bob?" He had to yell over the wind now.

A few leaves passed him, and he heard the heavy footsteps again.

Though he hadn't even stepped foot on the beach in years, he knew panic would cause unwanted attention. Bob was not going to come quick enough. He turned away from the steps, and rushed to get back to the motel.

The follower matched his pace.

He broke out into a run; so did the follower.

Though he did not trust emotions, he trusted intuition. And as of right now, he _knew_ he would be hurt if the follower caught up to him. Perhaps he was a mugger. There had been a prison break a few weeks before, scattering some of Springfield's most dangerous and twisted minds throughout town.

And that was when the laughter broke through the wind. It sounded as if it were right in his ear.

He turned and caught a glimpse of a black shadow running behind him.

It started as a soft and low "heh-heh-heh," and grew into heavy laughter, like the Joker's from Batman. It was horrible and insane laughter that let anyone who heard it know he was in danger beyond a shark attack or the bends. Cecil ran past his limits now, legs aching yet not daring to let up. He was about three-quarters to the motel now, not nearly as close as he wanted to be.

He turned a corner to a shortcut, through the small park.

It followed him.

Jumping over a flower bed, he eyed the small bridge that would take him a mere block away from the motel, and then he would be safe. Right? No mugger was brave enough to walk right into witnesses. All this time, the laughter didn't cease one little bit. This told him that the follower was used to the chase, strong, and definitely would _not_ give up if he had chased him across a park.

**Cecil crossed the bridge, and he no longer heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw a flaming pumpkin flying right into his chest. He saw it too late, gasping.

His hat flew off as he fell onto the pavement, and he desperately patted down the fire that threatened to burn him alive. He felt skin brake as his wrists rubbed against cement, and warm, oozing blood covered his hands.

Cecil rolled over quickly, prepared to put up a fight before the follower got to him. However, his heartbeat slowed in utter dread at what towered eight feet above him, still laughing, and his eyes grew wide as an innocent child's. His lips parted, and, for the first time in years, he felt an icy cold hand of fear and darkness grip at his mind and heart.

He had thought the follower would be a mugger, or one of the men from the prison break (that, ironically enough, his ENTIRE family had not been a part of) that had consisted of three rapists, six muggers, and five robbers. One of the rapists named Arnold had been looking at Cecil in an odd way before the break, relieving him even more when they broke free and left. Sometimes Arnold would be smiling at him in a way that made him ask the guards about it, and they'd say they would keep an eye on him.

He made a soft sound between a slurred word and a whimper before the shadow lunged into his own body. He cried out before It silenced him.

A security camera caught the shadow of Cecil's body on the side of a building, now standing, arch his back and outstretch his hands. Bones cracked and conformed to the follower's figure, and it grunted in pain a few times as it shoved the terrified human soul back so that it was no longer in charge. The shadow against the wall stood upright again, growling from the back of it's throat. The body somehow seemed taller now, though no vertebrae had been stretched. Even the follower knew better than that. He just had power now.

Yes. That was it.

Cecil's old eyes changed from the jade green they used to be to the color of blood as he strode calmly yet quickly back to the motel, leaving the hat and broken pumpkin behind.

* * *

**As I have said, this isn't based entirely off of Sleepy Hollow, but will have some of the story intertwined. Speaking of which, here's something that I will be dropping into later chapters:**

***- Get it? Hidden Street? If not, Google it with 'Headless Horseman.' **

****- Yes. I do NOT own this scene, and I know you know that. It's too famous a scene for someone to claim as their own (like the other day, a woman let her dog poop on the beach, watched him do so, and walked away without cleaning it up. A friend of mine confronted her about it, and she said she didn't see the dog poop - and the witnesses were only the entire beach! 0_o Disgusting). So no flames!**

**Get it? ;D**


	2. All Hallows

"Oh, you winced! That makes it double!" Nelson lightly punched Bart on the upper arm, chuckling.

"Man," He laughed too.

The school bus, though it did not exist in the nineteenth century, was the only car allowed on the streets during the two weeks of Halloween. Voices buzzed from the excited children riding, still in their costumes from the night before, though exhausted from the night and all of the candy consumed.

Bart and Nelson sat together in the middle-end of the bus, with Millhouse being sick. They both wore white dress shirts and pants, with button-up coats covering the shirts. Lisa and Jenny, in dresses, were in front of them. If they did not dress according to the codes, they would be given filthy clothing found from the school basement.

Nelson tugged at his shirt collar. "Man, I hate this stinkin' suit. I feel like a dandy."

"I for one think it would have been smarter for us to just have a vacation from school," Lisa pointed out, turning around to face them. "With all of the rules we have to follow, and the dress codes I mean. It's ridiculous they're using this festival's time era as an excuse to teach us in the poorest sense of teaching imaginable."

"So you, Lisa Simpson, are saying you don't want to go to school for two weeks? Now I've heard _everything_."

"_One_ more week left, technically."

"Whatever. All I know is that I'm tired of wearing the exact same clothes over and over again every day." He stared at a wall, "O_ver_ and _over_ and _over_ again, Lis. Like I've worn the same clothes every day for twenty-four years . . ."

"Weren't you supposed to have bought two of those costumes when they were on sale, Bart?"

His eyes widened. "_D'oh!_"

She rolled her eyes, and sat back down.

* * *

Sideshow Bob stalked up and down Evergreen Terrance, growling. Cecil had not answered his cell all day. Sure, he was late last night for the meeting. But he had to buy the damned costume before going out in public, and shoes from the nineteenth century that were HIS shoe size.

Hell, there were hardly any brands that sold size twenty-two anymore in the first place!

His costume was a simple black waist coat under a matching tailcoat, over a pair of pantaloons. Hey, it wasn't easy to find anything that wasn't ridiculously overpriced or ridiculously cheap (in both the clothing AND money). But that was no reason for Cecil to bail on him any more than it was to believe in the bogeyman. Or to ignore Bob's calls and texts. But he _had_ been nearly an hour late, which was his own damn fault.

_So I'll get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness._

Even so, the meeting was about killing the Simpson children. Perhaps he had gone off on his own to kill them his own way? Got caught?

He growled, and started marching in the general direction of the motel Cecil was staying in. As of the big Halloween changes, 'Sleep Easy Hotel' was now 'Ye Olde Motel.'

He smirked, going inside. It really didn't look like an 'olde' motel, except the man at the counter was dressed up in the clothing. He looked up from a magazine lazily as Bob approached.

"May I serve ye?"

He resisted rolling his eyes at the horrible mockery of the old slang, and said calmly, "In what room does Cecil Terwilliger reside?"

"Lemme check," He flipped open a journal, scanning the pages. "Ah—Room…*1790…sorry, room 17."

"Thank you."

"Need a key, sir?"

"No, I'll just knock . . . on the other hand, he seems to be quite angry at me. Yes, I'll take a key."

He handed it over, "Down the hall to your right. And the motel isn't responsible for madness in visitors, broken bones, possession, lost items, vomiting, hair loss, or insane relatives."

Brow raised, he shoved the keycard in his pocket, thanked him, and began planning what to say.

_What? I'm sorry for not showing up on time? I was freed at six that evening, had to get my stuff, had to go see Francesca and Gino, find clothes, find shoes . . . God, and he's mad at me for being ONLY an hour late?_

He knocked—no answer. A 'Do Not Disturb' sign hung on the doorknob. Sighing, he unlocked the door and walked in. There were clothes strewn over the double beds and floors, and the suitcase looked like it had been thrown against the wall. As Bob opened the door more, it brushed against something that clinked.

He looked down. A night lamp lay shattered at his feet. His face flickered from confusion to amusement.

_He got DRUNK?!_

He began to laugh, and strode inside the room, opening closed curtains. "Cecil, dear brother, didn't Mother ever tell you not to get stoned on work nights? Well, it explains why you haven't been answering me."

This put him in a better mood. Between the siblings bickering and prison, they hadn't often joked about anything other than demeaning subjects (and Bob was not the sort to pass up a chance to terrorize Cecil in this sense).

But he wasn't in here. Bob frowned slightly, an amused grin still on his face. "Cecil?" He checked under the bed, in the bathroom. "Where are you?" He chuckled. "There is work to be done!"

There was shuffling from the closet, and a confused groan.

Bob slowly approached it. The shuffling turned into a thumping noise, like the younger man was trying to find his way out.

He turned the handle—it was locked from the outside.

"Don't come in here!" It was a muffled hiss.

He chuckled some more, unlocking the door. "There's work to be done, you drunk. I want those Simpson children dead by the end of the day and us out of Springfield."

"You don't understand," His voice was choked up, like he had been crying. "He's stronger than me," a sob, "Get out before he comes back!"

The grin went down some. "Before who comes back? Who's stronger than you?"

"The Follower. He's _inside_ me, Bob, he _hurt_ me—I sound insane, I know. But he—" His voice was cut off.

The grin was gone, and Bob swung open the door. Cecil, having been leaning against it, toppled over and onto the floor. He scrambled back into the closet.

Before the shadows consumed him, Bob saw his face. The younger man had dark rings around his swollen red eyes, and cuts and bruises all over his body. His shirt was torn and ripped and bloody, revealing some of the cuts were as wide as a mere fingernail.

_Did he do this to himself? Was he mugged?_

He gasped.

_Did ARNOLD get to him?!_

He knelt down, all traces of humor gone. "What the hell happened to you? Are you still drunk? Did you see - see _Arnold?_"

He stared back with terrorized eyes—something Bob had never, _ever_ seen in his brother. "I was _not_ drunk, and I haven't even _seen_ Arnold. Go, NOW!" He sniffled.

"I believe you, brother. What the hell happened to you?"

"He-It-It attacked me. Saw my memories—read me like a book." He wiped his eyes.

"Who hurt you, Cecil?" He couldn't fathom what Springfield local could do this. Even the tourists were hardly dangerous enough to own a gun. The last time Cecil cried was when—hell, he couldn't even remember. Not since childhood, when several bullies had gotten brave enough to get rough. They had been "corrected" in their ways by both Bob AND Robert Sr., as they had been in middle school while Cecil was just finishing the third grade.

But that had been from pain, though. This was from terror.

Cecil stiffened, and his eyes widened. "He's coming. Go, _leave_ _NOW!_" He got up and weakly pushed Bob's shoulders back, only succeeding in swaying him.

"You need help!"

"You'll need a _grave_ by the time he'll get through with you!" He again attempted to push Bob back. "I can't keep him back for long! Shut and lock the damn door and _go!_"

"Wha…but-I…you-"

Cecil took in a sharp breath and clenched his eyes shut, and his grip on Bob's shoulders suddenly tightened. He opened his eyes, and _they were red_.

He gasped. "Cecil—?!"

He grinned wickedly, and the windows were thrown open under the force of a howling wind that had not been there before. Both men stood.

"_I am not Cecil."_ The voice was reptilian; deep and raspy, a low growl from the depths of it's throat.

Even before it said that, Bob knew this was no longer his brother.

_The motel isn't responsible for madness in visitors, broken bones, POSSESSION . . ._

_He's inside me, Bob, he HURT me_

_Read my memories like a book_

_He's coming!_

_You'll need a GRAVE by the time he'll get through with you!_

What this was, he did not know. A demon from Hell conjured on Halloween, a malicious spirit possession, whatever was inside Cecil, it was _evil_.

Bob smacked away the arms and made a run for the door. Behind him, he heard it growl, "Kill the Simpson children, eh?" It let out a sharp bark of a laugh, and Bob ran out the door without being followed. "_I'll do worse than that!_"

He never turned back until he was a few blocks away. His face hardened, and fists clenched. Yes, he wanted the children dead—but he wanted to do it _himself_, and in a different way. A way that wouldn't actually involve them suffering over a period of time, like _it_ would do.

By killing the children, Bob didn't even know what that would do to this paranormal entity. If it would take over Cecil completely, place the blame on him and leave to cause havoc elsewhere, or go on to do much worse things by using his body.

This, Bob knew, could not happen.

With a deep breath, he puffed out his chest and marched to Evergreen Terrance.

* * *

*- **The year 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow' takes place in. I'll be dropping more of these things in here, so keep an eye out! **


	3. Treaty (of Sorts)

**Happy Season 25, everybody! 8D**

* * *

Bob wrung his hands nervously, wondering how on earth he could pull this off.

_I must be firm. Must resist any homicidal urge I have. Must convince them that Cecil's . . . _

He shut his eyes.

_Possessed by a demon._

"God, what have I done?!" He turned halfway to run off the front porch of the Simpson household before Marge opened the door.

Both stared at each other in shock before she screamed, "_AH! SIDESHOW BOB!_"

She tried to shut the door; he put his foot in it. "Wait! I have not come here to try to kill you, I swear!"

"_Get out of my house!_ _What do you want?!_" She backed up into the home as he opened the door. "And shut the door if you must come in, you're letting in bugs!"

He did so, and held up his hands. "Please, I need help."

She eyes him distrustfully, hands pulling at the side of a white apron thrown over the black petticoat most women chose to wear for this season's festival. "Why would _you_, of all people, come to _us_, of all people, for help?"

"Believe it or not, I have come to…" he shuddered, attempting to spit out the words like they were poison. "To…dammit, the word won't come out…."

She relaxed a little, seeing that he had no visible weapons on his person. So is this just another one of his tricks, or what? "To what?"

He sighed. It was just too hard to say. "I'm trying to say protect, but it isn't exactly the right word."

_If I tell them the truth, then they'll think I'm insane for sure. As if they already _don't_ know. _

Now she just looked confused. "But I thought you hated my family."

"I do," He shrugged. "It's my brother, you see."

Bob explained what happened in the hotel, leaving out the paranormal subjects. He did tell her what Cecil had said, gaining her interest and fear for the kids.

She listened, and was somewhat relaxed—though still suspicious of his motives—at the end. It seemed like he was telling the truth, but was reminded of all the times he had lied, too. She went over in her head all of the ways this could end up—him leading her and the kids there to be slaughtered, Cecil coming and Bob turning on them so they could be slaughtered, and most other endings in which they were slaughtered. But why not just threaten her now? Why not wait until the kids were home to come here?

Marge accused, "So you're trying to _protect_ my children? But I thought you wanted us dead!"

"It may not sound reassuring as of right now, but I still do." He scowled and crossed his arms. "And as soon as this is over…"

She nodded. "I get it. So you're proposing a treaty." It was a statement more than a question.

He nodded. "And if I'm out of the country with my family, then there will be an even _longer_ time before we somehow meet again. Hint. Hint." Tuscany had not been forgotten.

"Right, right. So save my children from Cecil, and save Cecil from what again?"

He shook his head, face cool and relaxed. "I don't know what it was. It sounded like whoever he was talking about controlled him. But will you trust me on my word?" He held out his hand.

"Hardly." She glared. "Why should I believe you won't help him when the time's right? Or as soon as this whole thing is over, you and your brother will turn on us? Why _should_ I trust you?"

"Because in all of the times that I have plotted to kill Bart, I never wanted him to actually _suffer_ in _pain_, like Cecil will surely do. You want your children's safety, and I want my brother back. Is it a deal, or shall I simply walk away, leaving you without help to the power of a man more likely to hurt your children than I?" He outstretched his hand again.

She considered it, and then heard Maggie crying upstairs. Marge nodded, shook his hand, and hurried upstairs. "Fine. Deal. You might as well," she yelled from upstairs, "make yourself at home, now. I'll need to go pick up the kids in a few minutes too, so I think it best you aren't the first thing they see when they come home."

Both knew what that meant, and both knew _who_ that meant.

* * *

The school bell rang, and everyone ran outside in a rush of shouts and cheers. The majority of the crowd ran to the one bus Springfield Elementary had, and the others either walked home or rode the bus.

Bart and Lisa were among the walkers, unlike all of their friends who were bus riders. However, Marge was there, and had Maggie with her.

"Mom?" Lisa asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Do you realize how embarrassing it is for you to show up here? The bullies can see us!"

"I . . ."

_Want to tell you Sideshow Bob is in our house, and I've agreed to a treaty..."_

"I just wanted to - to walk you guys home. Did you hear about those murders last night? The bodies were all decapitated, an-and I just wanted you guys to come home safely._ Is that a crime?_!"

Bart held up his hands, "Jeez Mom, calm dow-"

"_Never tell a woman to calm down, it just makes is worry more!"_

All in all, it was a slow walk back home.

When they got there, Marge stood at the front door with the keys. Lisa had gotten Maggie. She turned to the children before putting the key into the lock. "Kids…I want to tell you something before you come into this house."

Both looked into their mother's eyes and saw no traces of humor. Lisa was the first to speak. "Mom, what's wrong? You didn't walk us home because of those murders, did you?"

"Has somebody died?" Bart asked, "Grandpa passed away in Lisa's room, didn't he?"

"Why would he pass away in my room, why not yours?"

"Because he likes _your_ Malibu Stacy dolls . . . which kinda grosses me out. You know, one day he was in there, and I saw him—"

"Nobody died!" Marge exclaimed, "And Grandpa is not attracted to your dolls, Lisa. It's just that, well…brace yourself. Somebody we don't exactly like or trust is in here, and I'm still debating whether or not it was a mistake to let him inside in the first place."

"Who is it?" Both asked in unison.

"Mr. Burns?" Bart asked.

"Moe?"

"That creepy guy that's always hanging out outside the Arcade?"

"No, he isn't any of those people! Let me unlock the door, and prepare yourself for the worst." She opened the door.

Even Marge walked in hesitantly, looking around carefully. After a moment of staring into the TV room, she relaxed some and motioned the kids over. "I promise you guys, I'm not insane for doing this."

They both screamed in unison the usual Sideshow Bob greeting as he slowly approached the front entrance.


End file.
